Three years had passed and Alfred was shown many new things. He grew taller, his voice dropped an octave or two and he thickened a bit, but not by much. It was March of 1770, four more months until he was twenty years old, but there was no time to celebrate his birth. A storm was brewing fast and he needed to keep his priorities straight. His father stayed the same, still an inch or three taller than his son. He looked like an older version of the boy, ruggedly handsome with streaks of gray tinting once golden hair. It was easy to tell he was older as his voice was deeper and the darkness under his eyes and lines around his forehead from clear stress and aging. He pat his son’s shoulder, scratching his stubbly chin with a hardy chuckle.
"My boy, you have trained hard today! I am very proud of your devotion, but you need rest. As leader of the rebellion I order you to come out with us tonight! Your first time out with the boys! Have a couple drinks and unwind, huh? It’ll do you good." Alfred stood straight, panting slightly as he wiped the sweat off his brow from a hard days work. "Are you sure, papa? I don’t mind training. The more I do, the better I become." Another bark of laughter and his father slung an arm around the boy. "The way a man fights is not what he’s judged by, Alfred. You also need to learn when to relax when you have the time." The younger nodded. "Fine. I will accompany you and the others for a drink tonight." "Did ya hear that boys!? Alfie is joining us tonight!" A series of men yelling joyfully could be heard, as they all fled, pushing Alfred along as he laughed.
Three years. It was only three years and already the Englishman’s loneliness was enough to make him want to shout at the stars above the lively, bustling city. He thought, once he got older, that he would stop needing to tell his men to ease up on the city folk, that they were just normal people trying to live their lives, but even though the soldier had filled out his red coat with lean muscles and his features became sharper as his younger body melted away, they still refused to listen. His superiors Arthur could understand, but fellow soldiers, people he was forced to consider his brothers in arms, disregarded his warnings. The most recent incident had given him a rather nasty bruise under his chin, but considering the fool who picked a fight with him had a broken nose, the Englishman considered it a win. What truly mattered was that the woman and her son got away unscathed. The boy still spat on him, but it was the principle of the thing.
Needless to say, Arthur was patrolling alone tonight. He sat outside the rowdiest pub in town, nursing his bruised chin as he gazed through the darkened street to the light on the other side. He knew he could never join them, but with a sigh, he almost wished he could. A group approached the tavern and the Englishman immediately straightened his posture, standing at attention as if trying to intimidate the men across the way. But a familiar glint of the light off of golden hair and a pair of mirthful blue eyes made the soldier falter a bit. Surely that couldn’t be…
Alfred almost immediately reciprocated the kiss, holding onto the man tightly and kissing him back with a rough passion. He almost forgot the he was trying to get them into a room because at the moment, the gunman didn’t quite mind being fucked right here, right now.
The American managed though, remaining on his feet as he was still lip locked with his partner. He groaned into the kiss, his eyes fluttering shut and biting the man’s lower lip softly then harder. It was easy to tell how eager the man was with the fervent grinding of his hips, but Alfred enjoying the friction nonetheless.
The sensation of Alfred biting his lower lip was enough to pull a groan out of the Englishman, his arms wrapped tightly around the American as he continued the rotation of his hips. But the friction was now becoming counter productive, making the Englishman more frustrated than relieved at the pressure building between them.
"Room number?" he demanded gruffly between rough, passionate kisses. He burned to touch Alfred more, to mark him and make him cry out Arthur’s name in passionate fury, letting everyone know the American was his and no one else’s. His gloved hand fisted the back of the gun man’s hood, slotting their lips together again.
*he blinks and whips around to catch the marshmallow before it hits the ground, raising an eyebrow at her with a smirk*
Was there a reason for that?
Ahm… well… I’m not strictly religious but… I do pray every day and go to church sometimes. Does that count?
*he nods, smiling softly* That’s fine. Do you happen to know Psalm 71? If memory serves, that’s a protection prayer that should help you for what we’re about to do.
Alfred sat in the back room of his store. Product needed to be made and put out before the next rush. He sold something almost everyone wanted, but not one wanted to admit to.
It was easier… being a drug dealer. Back in the day when he was fifteen slinging dope to other teens in the school parking lot. He loved pot, and so did almost everyone else he was around. It was easy to sell. Back when it was nameless and faceless.
Now, a little bell rung over your head, alerting everyone on the streets, everyone in the store that you were a stoner. A loser to the mainstream, nine to five society that has their noses stuck so far in the air if it rained they would drown. This was the working class man’s drug as well. Too much stress to handle. Alcohol could not touch the way it made you feel.
They just needed some way to crack a smile for a few hours in front of their shitty kids and bitchy wives. Hell, at one point Alfred had more house wives coming to him for a little more than just his weed. Things were screwed up around there. Almost everyone needed an escape.
Alfred himself, was a normal guy. He was a football player in high school as well as a drug dealer. He couldn’t use it, but he could use the money.
And he didn’t need the money. No his family was very wealthy and known. He just wanted the money. Alfred was greedy. But, to talk to the young man, he seemed like a really nice guy. Bubbly and funny.
Alfred worked hard not letting anyone know about his craving. Now he was twenty four, his parents had kicked him out of the house when he was eighteen and they found him and his brother lighting up in the bathroom. They lived on their own money from the shop they opened.
Their parents were ashamed of them. But Alfred had already gave up on trying to win their love. He couldn’t say the same for his brother though. He did wish that Matthew had not been drug into it.
And as Alfred was working on a new type of pipe he had been making, he did not know that in a little under an hour he would be staring at a loaded pistol in his face for the third time.
It was getting really old, but Alfred feared for his life every time.
The Emerald Archer didn’t care much for the pettiness of thieves. Despite Arthur’s disdain for most things that didn’t involve crime fighting, cigarettes, alcohol or drinking, thievery was probably towards the top of his list. He could understand the situations of the impoverished. Hell, for the majority of his childhood, poverty was practically a luxury, but London was very different from California and he had been lead to expect that things would be different in the United States. He even planned to stop his vigilante-ism and write scripts like every other normally soulless person in the state.
But alas, the thieves were just as active here as they were back home. Arthur would have sighed in frustration if the relief of having something to do wasn’t so strong. California was very different from England, but the Archer didn’t mind it so much. The warm weather eased his tired bones quite nicely and he had to admit, Americans were pretty bloody friendly when he got down to it.
The various robbers he fought on a regular basis didn’t even try to hit him in the face when they charged. Something about not wanting to hurt his boyish face. It was almost charming how easily they thought they could win against him. Charming, but still terribly foolish.
All the same, thieves seemed to be the main problem of this city, as opposed to the underground crime syndicate in jolly old England. A welcomed change, if Arthur said so himself. Though, there seemed to be thousands more here than back home, which made it difficult to keep up with when attacks did strike. He was still trying to get the hang of maneuvering through the city at night, the warm air doing nothing for how hot his costume was and the Archer begrudgingly decided he would have to accommodate his wardrobe when he got the chance.
His feet fell silently from the building he trapezed onto, bow out and at the ready. The street reeked heavily of weed and the Archer scrunched up his nose a bit, not at all used to the smell. Regardless, he approached the building silently from the back, various shouts coming from within. He slipped inside quietly, counting the three men in the room beside the hostage before speaking, bow at the ready.
"Evening, gentlemen," he said, voice ringing clearly in the dimly lit room, "I do hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I couldn’t help but notice how quickly you were trying to clear these shelves of all their heap." He grinned cheekily, eyes flickering between the three of them. "I do hope you’re going to pay for all that."
Daily dose of love quotes here
Mattie wrung her hands together and bit her lip as she felt the color drain out of her face. There were so many things that those words could be referring to but of course her mind went right to the one that she thought was worst. After she was sure her voice wouldn’t fail her she spoke “Y-You can’t do what anymore?”
"Then you must be a very worried person. You’re going to get old fast if you continue to have all of that weigh on your mind." She smiled and gently kissed the tip of his nose before moving to rest her head on his shoulder She slipped her arms under his and wrapped them tightly around his upper back so that there was as little space between them as possible before she started speaking again "Imagine how I feel. You get worried even though I’m almost always in my home…so can you even guess the panic that over takes me when I know you’re off doing something dangerous? I’m so afraid that one day you’ll go away and never come back…but it’s worth the fear to be with you…so please don’t feel guilty…because you’re worth every danger and sleepless night."
Laughter bubbled over within the Englishman before the arms he had wrapped around the woman tightened slightly, one of his hands dragging up her back to run through her soft hair. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he doubted he’d live long enough to grow old, too wrapped up in the Canadian and what she was saying to really pay attention to much else. ”I’m sorry, love,” he mumbled after a while, letting out a sigh before pressing a gentle kiss to her hair, “I don’t mean to worry you. I don’t know how difficult it must be when I leave you alone, but I promise, I will always come back to you.” He smiled softly, nuzzling her a bit, “So try not to worry about me, alright? I’m stronger than I look.”